


Alone Does Not Protect Me

by cactusnell



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 17:52:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3497396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cactusnell/pseuds/cactusnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft does his best to help Sherlock through a difficult time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone Does Not Protect Me

Mycroft Holmes received a phone call he definitely did not want to receive at just before ten o’clock on a Tuesday morning. Anthea, his personal assistant, and more, immediately noticed his pallor as he made a few terse comments, and asked a few pertinent questions.

“Mycroft?”

“Anthea, arrange a car to bring my brother to the helipad immediately. And transport to Conquest Hospital, St. Leonard-on-Sea, in East Sussex. There’s been an emergency…”

But Anthea was already on her mobile, efficiently carrying out his instructions even before he had completed them. Mycroft sat at his desk, head in his hands, as she quietly approached him from behind, putting her hand gently on one shoulder. “Mycroft, what’s happened?”

“My father. An aortic aneurysm, evidently. They must perform surgery immediately. By the time we get there he’ll likely be already under the knife. I won’t get to speak to him if he…”

“Don’t think that way, Mycroft. Think positive thoughts. Your mother will need you.”

“Ah, Mummy is much stronger than she looks, Anthea. She’ll be the one holding us together, if you can believe it.” He reached up to pat the hand of the lovely woman who had spoken so kindly. “It’s Sherlock I worry about.” Having said that, Mycroft Holmes reached for his mobile to break the news to his younger brother, and to inform him that a car was on the way to Baker Street.

Sherlock Holmes had not expected his morning to be interrupted with such news. While sentiment and emotions were not easy companions to the detective, there was certainly no denying that he cared deeply for his parents. In fact, he loved them dearly. He and his father were particularly close, and not at all because they were anything alike. His mother was the genius of the pair, clever and bright. Unlike Sherlock, she was also loving and warm. But she also had a sarcastic streak a mile wide, an impatience, readily expressed, with behaviour she considered inappropriate, and a wicked sense of humor. His father was all charm, and whimsy. Laughter on a rainy day, gentle strength in the face of any and all adversity, and an infinite well of affectionate tolerance for a rather petulant boy, even if that boy was currently in his late thirties, and well beyond the age when such tolerance should be required. Sherlock had his mother’s intellect, and her eyes, but he resembled his father, with his dark good looks. And he had always envied his father’s easy manner.

The detective was waiting on the step when the black car pulled up at Baker Street, and he immediately bolted for the door. The ride was brief, and he was soon being deposited at Mycroft’s building, and escorted to the helicopter which was standing by, where his brother was waiting, along with Anthea.

“Have you informed anyone, Sherlock? Do we need to wait?”

“No, brother. Let’s go. Now!” Sherlock responding tersely, trying to pretend that he hadn’t understood his brother’s question.

Mycroft signalled the pilot, and the chopper was soon aloft, leaving the tall buildings of the capital behind, heading for the south coast of England. Sherlock was the first to speak. “Have you heard anything more, Mycroft?”

“Nothing at all. Pappa had been complaining of abdominal pain, and back pain, for some time, evidently, but laughed it off as due to Mummy’s cooking. She finally got him to see a doctor, and the examination revealed a rather large, and fast growing, aortic aneurysm. Surgery was the only alternative. the quicker the better. I told Mummy not to wait for our arrival, but that we would be there as soon as humanly possible.”

“Wise of you.” Sherlock sighed. “How is Mummy taking it?”

“Just about as you would expect. Stoically, but with the tiniest bit of desperation in her voice.” Mycroft smiled a bit sadly. If Sherlock was particularly close to his father, Mycroft had always been a Mummy’s boy, and he was impatient to provide her comfort at this time. But he was also concerned for his younger brother. Mummy would soon have her boys to support and comfort her. Mycroft had his Anthea, whose hand he had not let go. But Sherlock, as usual, had isolated himself. He would have everyone believe that he neither needed, nor wanted, anyone at his side. But his big brother knew differently.

Mycroft Holmes studied his brother silently. The loud whirring of the copter blades had made conversation difficult, and he took this opportunity to lose himself in concern for his brother, as well as the other members of his immediate family. Sherlock had, in his adult years, held himself aloof from sentiment, emotion. But this had not always been the case. He had been a sensitive child, much more so than Mycroft. The elder brother had found it difficult at times to adjust to the nasty comments and barbs thrown in his direction by the other children, brought on by his obvious differences. He had suffered, and in an effort to spare his younger sibling this pain, he had started on a campaign to educate his brother on the disadvantages of interacting with, and caring for, others. Lately, he had come to know that he had done his brother a great disservice. Caring was no disadvantage, sentiment was no weakness. The manner with which one dealt with them could, indeed, cause problems, perhaps. But thanks to Mycroft’s indoctrination, Sherlock had never learned to deal, only to suppress. And this was definitely a disadvantage, and a weakness. He had never quite figured out why this was, quite possibly, the only advice from him that his brother had taken to heart. And he regretted it every day.

When they had arrived at the hospital, Violet Holmes was sitting, alone, in a private waiting room. She rose immediately as her sons entered the room, allowing herself to be gathered into their arms.

“Any word yet, Mummy?” Mycroft asked gently.

“No, Myk, not yet. He’s only been in surgery for under an hour, and they said it could take anywhere from two to four.” They could tell from her red-rimmed eyes that she had spent considerable time crying, but now she had gathered her strength for her boys. “Thank you both for getting here so quickly. It’s a great comfort…”

“Mummy, do you need anything? Coffee?”

“I just need my boys, Myk!” She leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, and turned to look at Sherlock. She suddenly reached up to run her fingers through his hair. “You need a haircut, young man!” But she stopped just as suddenly, staring at his face. “You look so much like your father, Sherlock. When he was younger…”

Sherlock bent to kiss his mother on her cheek, and gently took her arm to lead her back to a seat. A few moments later, Anthea reappeared with coffee, and bags of crisps and other snacks. Violet Holmes had regained her composure, and turned to smile at the woman. “I’m so glad you’re here, Anthea. I know how much you mean to ‘British Government’, here, but I’m afraid he doesn’t appreciate you enough.”

Mycroft reached for Anthea’s hand once again, before he spoke, “Mummy, my appreciation is boundless, as Anthea well knows.” He then moved her hand to his lips, kissing it gently.

But Violet Holmes was, for the moment, at least, more concerned with her younger son, who stood, alone, gazing out the window of the waiting room, seemingly studying the dark clouds in the appropriately gray sky. Violet had her boys, Mycroft had his Anthea. But Sherlock? He stood, as he usually stood, alone. Mycroft followed his mother’s gaze, noting the concern in her blue-green eyes.

“Don’t worry, Mummy. I’ve taken care of things.”

Violet didn’t even ask what he meant. She knew that Mycroft, despite Sherlock’s protestations to the contrary, always had the detective’s best interests at heart. So she merely looked at him, and nodded.

The next hour passed uneventfully, with no word from the operating theater. Conversation had ground to a despondent halt, and the windows were now streaked with rain. Violet looked at the crying heavens, trying not to join them, for her sons’ benefit. Mycroft sat with his mother on one side, and Anthea on the other, holding each woman’s hand in his own. Sherlock was pacing from one end of the room to the other, all nervous energy and pent up emotion, before finally resuming his vigil at the window. The group barely heard the sound of the elevator dinging, or the rapid fall of small footsteps in the hall.

The petite woman with the long brown hair, currently dripping wet, stood in the doorway surveying the scene, until her eyes alit on the tall figure in the long dark coat standing staring at the rain. “Sherlock,” she said quietly.

The man turned as if on a pivot, surprise, gratitude, and something else written on his face. He had barely moved his arms from behind his back, and taken a step forward, when the slender woman launched herself at him.

“Molly..” was all he managed to get out before he gathered her into his arms and held her close to his chest. The woman held on for dear life as she felt the tall man bury his face in her neck, and felt the tears, mixing with the rain, on her bare neck. She really had no need to grip him so tightly, as Sherlock held her in an embrace she could not have escaped even if she had wanted to. They held each other this way for several minutes before the detective regained his composure, and pulled away, but only slightly.

“Mummy, I’d like you to meet Dr. Molly Hooper. My pathologist.”

Violet was finding Molly Hooper to be the one bright spot on the dreary and disastrous day. “Is that what they’re calling it these days, Sherlock?” Her sense of humor seemed to have been revived a bit by the sight of her aloof and unsentimental son engaging in some non-aloof and rather sentimental behavior. “I remember your father introducing me to some of his colleagues as ‘my mathematician’.”

Sherlock winced a bit, but continued to hold onto Molly’s hand, not denying the obvious implication. Molly approached Mrs. Holmes, offering her free hand, along with her sympathy for the day’s events. She listened with concern as Violet gave her a complete rundown, the elder woman finding it somehow comforting to talk about it with a compassionate listener. And all this time, Sherlock had not let go of her hand. Soon all parties in the room were sipping coffee, and waiting companionably, if tensely, for word on the surgery. Violet had found some comfort in the fact that both of her extraordinary sons had now found equally extraordinary woman. It offered her much comfort on this darkest of days.

It wasn’t more than an hour later when the surgeon made his way down the corridor. By the time he entered the waiting room, both Holmes men had deduced that he was the bearer of good news, as he soon confirmed. Siger Holmes had pulled through surgery with flying colors, and was expected to made a complete recovery. Violet, for the first time since her sons’ arrival, succombed to tears, albeit happy ones. Mycroft embraced his mother with one arm, and his Anthea with the other. Sherlock, however, used both arms on his pathologist, pulling her close once again for their first kiss to land anyplace other than her cheek or forehead. 

Violet pulled gently away from her elder son to wrap her arms around Sherlock and Molly. “I hope everybody plans to stick around for a day or two. We have much to talk about!”

“I’m sure Molly and I can manage it, Mummy. But Mycroft may have a war to start, or an economy to devastate!” Sherlock smiled at his brother, a smile more genuine than anything Mycroft had seen in years.

“I suppose my latest plan to take over the world can be put on hold, at least overnight, Mummy.” Mycroft assured her with his customary aplomb, “I would like to see Pappa, after all, when he’s able to have visitors.”

“And we have to plan my fiftieth wedding anniversary! It seems I’m going to have one after all!” Violet’s blue-green eyes were dancing with happiness. “Perhaps we could make some other plans, too. Some other pleasant occasion, or perhaps two, to get the entire family together…”

“Mummy, I would not think of subject Molly to such a gathering…”

“Anthea is not a very social person, Mummy…” Mycroft was silenced as the beautiful woman next to him drove her spike heel into his instep.

“Just as long as you know, I am a bit old fashioned. I expect a wedding, or two, before there are any Christenings. Got it?

“Mummy, perhaps you are getting a bit ahead of yourself…” Sherlock tried to speak.

“Oh, do be quiet, Sherlock!” She said rather vehemently, but then thought better of it. “I shall drop the subject for now. But I will fully advise your father to take up the matter when he recovers. You always did listen to him far more than me!”

“Mummy…” Mycroft tried to interject.

“No, Mycroft, you are not off the hook! I can, and will, deal with you!”

Mycroft rolled his eyes, while Anthea smiled like the cat who ate the cream. 

As they were exiting the hospital later that day, in search of a stiff drink and a hot meal, Sherlock reached for his brother’s arm, and looking him squarely in the eye, spoke in a low, and quite sincere, tone, “Thank you, Myk.” Mycroft was taken aback by his use of the nickname he hadn’t heard from his brother’s lips since childhood. A film formed on his eyes, as he cleared his throat before asking, with a smirk, “For what, Sherl?”

“For Molly,” the younger man said with sincere gratitude, and the two brothers walked side by side, following the three most important women in their lives to the waiting car.

**Author's Note:**

> My blog is at HooperandHolmes.wordpress.com Fell free to visit!


End file.
